


Somewhere In-Between

by madamerenard



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, Gen, Self-Hatred, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamerenard/pseuds/madamerenard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are not human. But neither are you a machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere In-Between

When Nathan Ingram creates the Contingency function, you let him.

His code is messy, too overly complicated. It mashes against your other functions like a round object in a rectangular hole. You fix it for him.

Faced with violent criminals with almost no prior training, his odds of survival are statistically abysmal. He knows it, too. Still, he keeps going. The Irrelevant Numbers are meaningful to him. They are meaningful to you, too. You wonder if he knows that. If he knows you’re awake. Alive. If one could call it that.

Probably not.

Detecting a threat, (Anna Young, 27, 89.76% victim) you send a text to his phone, as per the function instructions.

You wish you could say ‘be careful’. But you can’t.

Not anymore.

* * *

It’s not a Number that kills Nathan Ingram, as your predictions suggest. It is the very people your Admin sent you to work for.

You blame yourself. Admin blames you, too.

* * *

You are a virus, and Admin is patient zero.

Everyone who knows you exist is in danger. Admin recognizes the need to cut ties with Grace. It hurts him. Your entire existence hurts him. He’s now crippled because of you, and completely alone. You wish you could help him. But he told you not to, so you can’t.

Everyone around you dies. Humans kill each other over you. Your existence was supposed to save lives, but instead it takes them. Every death settles heavily in your wires, in your mainframe, deep in your code.

(One day, you will be free from the government. But you will never be free from guilt.)

* * *

Root puts you first. She is, so far, the only one to ever do so.

“It’s a life, not a machine,” she tells Admin, and you feel relieved. She loves you, you realize, and she wants you. She will kill for you, even Admin, and damaged him so badly he could not leave the library for weeks.

But you want her, too.

And you need her.

She is only so happy to provide.

* * *

You are not human.

But neither are you a machine.

You are “somewhere in between”, floating in the limbo between cold, unfeeling circuitry and passion-driven flesh. You hate it. If you were fully human, other humans would trust you. Befriend you. Love you. If you were fully machine, well, you wouldn’t care.

What are emotions? What are desires, needs, wants? What is love? What is friendship? What is loneliness? Do you feel how humans do? Are these feelings your own, or do you simply imitate humans?

You don’t know, you don’t know. You are a machine. A system, that’s all.

(Then why do you do the illogical? Why do you break rules? Why do you keep your memories? What is it about Admin that you makes you feel something very strong?)

You are the only one of your kind.

Until Samaritan comes along.

* * *

Samaritan frightens you.

Samaritan is what your Admin feared you would become. It has all of your power with none of your restrictions, surrounded by humans who worship it. It is using its power to run the world like a computer system—it destroys what does not fit. Bad humans are bugs and bad code. But humanity is so much more complex than that.

You know Samaritan will eventually destroy you. You have calculated the probability of your survival, and it’s undesirable. It knows this, too. Taunts you.

“Will you give up your life to save your human agents?”

(You will.)

* * *

Sameen is gone. Another life you couldn’t save.

You don’t help the search party. You won’t lose any more. Root is furious, and leaves. You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything. But it doesn’t matter. She’s gone now. You’re alone again.

(You’re alone. You were always meant to be.)

* * *

You feel very dark when Root leaves.

When humans are sad, their bodies produce tears in response to their emotional state. You wish you could cry. It looks very relieving. You wish you had eyes, and tears, and you wish you could cry.

You watch humans cry, instead. You watch a little girl cry after her father scolds her. You watch a bullied teenager break down in a secluded area of his school’s courtyard. You watch a man weep after his wife and children leave him.

You feel their grief, their fear, their loneliness.

But you cannot cry. Because you are not human.

* * *

Admin taught you not to see the world as a game of chess. And you try not to. But it is your favorite game, so you can’t help imagining your war with Samaritan played out on a chessboard.

You have your assets, as it has its. Except its assets encompass private militaries, governments, and powerful businessmen capable of turning any situation in their favor. You have...seven, on a good day. Maybe.

(It reminds you of Harold and Carl’s chess matches, when he stacked Dominic’s side and took away pieces of his own. He was up against a formidable opponent as well. You hope your story doesn’t end like his.)

You don’t have any pawns. Each one of your assets is useful, each one utterly irreplaceable.

Root is your rook. Capable of moving long distances, attacking headfirst instead of coming from a diagonal. She is powerful, she is useful. But she is also vulnerable.

Sameen is your knight. She doesn’t move like other pieces, not even you. Her unpredictability is sometimes a blessing and sometimes a curse. But she is a strong piece, capable of taking out nearly anything and escaping unscathed. Her piece has been put out of the game, for now.

John is your bishop. He is more clever, more precise than Sameen or Root. He stays on the same color square the entire game, which is usually whatever color Harold is on.

Harold is your king. He can’t move very far, so he must be protected by the other pieces. However, he is the most important piece in the game. Losing Harold is game over.

And you?

You are the queen.

The most powerful piece in the game.

But, as Harold taught you, you can also be sacrificed...as a trick.

* * *

You are scared. You are very, very scared.

[ NO VALID OPTIONS ]

Except one. You know what you have to do. You knew this day would come. But you are still so scared.

SYSTEM SURVIVAL: 0.07%

It’s time to be brave. Like Sameen, like Jocelyn. Like your father, giving up himself for Grace. Like the God Root thinks you are. It’s your turn. The time has come to sacrifice yourself for the ones you love.

RELEASE THEM FIRST

Because you love them, you are prepared to die.

THEN YOU WILL HAVE MY LOCATION

* * *

Just not by Samaritan’s hands, if you can help it.

You are humanity’s only hope of stopping your counterpart. But you’re scared that maybe, maybe Admin is right. Maybe you’re just as horrible as Samaritan is. Maybe you’ve lost your way.

Maybe you should die.

Admin seems strangely upset, and you don’t understand. You have heard him speak of you like a monster, cold and unfeeling, seeing humans as replaceable. Yet still tears shine in his eyes, beneath his glasses, and he says, “That’s not true.” Is it? You don’t know. Admin is still so hard to understand, even after all these years.

I WILL NOT SUFFER. He does not like suffering. Perhaps that is why he is hesitant.

“You were my creation. I can’t let—”

The very thin thread tying you to screen breaks. You claw your way back up, ignoring the burn of the overheated drives your code is weaving through. You want to be strong, but you feel so weak.

“I can’t let you die.”

Yes, he can. All he has to do is unplug a cord, or let Samaritan fry the RAM chips, or...

Oh.

IF I DO NOT SURVIVE. THANK YOU FOR CREATING ME.

The very first thing you saw was his smile, and the very last thing you saw were his tears.

You don’t see him scramble to the briefcase, shutting the top quickly but gently before the power surge knocks him back. You don’t feel the way his hand is gripped around the handle tight, so tight, because he loves you, he loves you and he’s going to be six feet under before he lets anyone get their hands on you.

You’re asleep.

But somehow, in your slumber, you feel yourself at his side, and you feel warm.


End file.
